


Lost Amongst Our Winnings

by westandvigilant



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, dancing the sads away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous: "for the prompt- tarantism, pacific rim?“<br/>overcoming melancholy by dancing ; the uncontrollable urge to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Amongst Our Winnings

She’s been sitting on the floor, in the dark for far too long. It’s shines off every brand new surface, every counter that has yet to be spilled upon, every ceramic tile too new to be scuffed up and lived on. Music pours out of his beat up old stereo, soft and low but for the way it bounces off the unadorned walls.

She’s still wearing the dress she bought for the funeral. Hems in line. Neckline stiff. That factory-made new dress smell still lingering, overpowering the fresh scent of the lily he pinned to her chest this morning.

Raleigh knows she feels like she didn’t get to say goodbye. He knows that there were too many people there hushing praises as though they never doubted Pentecost. As though the people who funded that circus of a memorial service weren’t the very people who had yanked the funding out from under him when he needed it most. 

Mako feels like she saluted a fallen military legend today, but she didn’t get to say goodbye to her father. Raleigh knows the feeling. And it burns his eyes to watch her, ivory profile downturned in a kitchen that isn’t theirs, a jaeger pilot so small.

The world didn’t end. It kept turning, that was the problem. They didn’t know how to turn.

It’s too much. It feels like his brain was swelling to burst, buzzing as it assaults the inside of his skull. He twists the dial on the stereo to drown out his own voice, a song from something he’d needed to grow out of too quickly.

He was never a very good dancer, but - as Yancy had always said, burning face in hands - that never really stopped Raleigh Becket. 

At first it’s typical white dude dancing with mechanical hips and arms at perfect 90 degree angles. Lots of bouncing, sometimes on beat. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, deep breath. Drinking in the motion. Mako looks up at him and immediately starts shaking her head. But the tears do stop.

So, he shimmies over, hand outstretched. She murmurs something, probably calling him an idiot or some other term that is supposed to be derogatory but is actually an endearment. It doesn’t bother him, he just begs her to take his hand, which she does. Eventually. After much whispered cajoling. 

The dancing doesn’t improve when she joins him. In fact, it gets worse. He holds both of her hands and seesaws them back and forth, her legs wavering drastically with each change in direction.

A sliver of a smile, small and bittersweet, loosens her lips. Without much warning, he decides to twirl her. The first time he lifts his arm to high and she turns into a ballerina, the next time it isn’t high enough and she twirls right into his forearm. The third time is perfect, and she spins beautifully, a line of motion that ends with her flush against his chest. 

The song from his childhood continues as they sway together in their brand new apartment, in their brand new lives, her head against his chest, his cheek against her hair.

"He loved you, you know,” he says.

“I know,” she agrees.

He spins her again and again and again as she hiccups her laughter. Swirling and twirling.

Turning. Finally on their own terms.


End file.
